


Clutch

by elenajames



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Body Modification, Breeding, Egg Laying, Hockey Gods, M/M, Magic, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 06:19:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14970902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/elenajames
Summary: Travis has been chosen to be a bearer, and he does his best to fulfill his duty.





	Clutch

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I don't know okay. Inspired by [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lV5VlxFLQdE).

Jim prods gently around the bruise low on Travis’s stomach, a slight frown on his face. “You said it’s been getting darker?” 

 

“Yeah. It was pretty small when I first noticed it, but now.” Travis waves at the golf-ball sized bruise. He wouldn’t care, normally, but it’s been nearly a week of the mark growing and starting to ache. 

 

“Let me know if things change,” Jim finally says. Travis nods and hops off the table, yanking his shirt back down. He makes it a couple more days before the thing starts to itch, and Jim just shakes his head when Travis comes back. 

 

“You’re fine, Travis. You’ve been chosen to be a bearer.” 

 

“I - what?” He knows what bearers are, of course; there hadn’t been one on the team last year - something the more superstitious fans and players blame their poor luck on - but everyone knows about them. “But why -” 

 

“No one really knows. But of course, you should know that. A few more days, I think, and the canal will be fully formed. You’ll need to take care of it,” Jim goes on a bit more sternly, “it’s an honor, and that makes it your responsibility to make sure the offerings are given properly.” 

 

“Sure,” Travis says faintly. He leaves with a short printout on how to prepare himself and a handful of generic lube packets, both of which he dumps on the front seat of his car for the drive home. Part of him is tempted to leave them there, but a faint twinge in his belly gets him to scoop them up and carry them inside. 

 

The pore opens up while they’re on a road trip, achy and sensitive as Travis’ shirt brushes over it. His UnderArmour is even worse, keeping him aware of the little slit all through the game. He manages to not attract any attention while still keeping it covered, and even slips a packet of lube from his travel bag into the pocket of his sleep shorts without Nolan noticing. 

 

It’s nerve wracking, waiting for Nolan to fall asleep so he can  _ finger himself _ , but Jim had said that doing so would help it to form faster. As soon as Nolan’s breaths have shifted into soft snores, Travis gingerly tears open the lube packet and drips some on his fingers. He props it up on a fold in the sheets, careful not to spill it, and slides his hand back beneath the blankets. Tugging his shirt up with one hand, Travis gently trails his lube-slick fingers along the opening. He doesn’t mean to gasp as loud as he does, but the pore is so fucking  _ sensitive _ that he has to bite his lip to keep himself quiet. 

 

The tip of his finger feels so big as it breaches the canal that he almost chickens out, but Jim’s words flicker through his mind. Travis presses further, gently thrusting his finger in and out and chewing his lip as pleasure burns through him. He’s already hard, and he can feel his cock throb every time he pushes his finger in. Travis comes fast, shuddering as slick gushes out around his finger and cum pulses into his boxers. He takes a moment just to breathe before pulling his finger out and swiping it on his boxers. Thankfully, Nolan is still asleep as Travis nabs the lube packet and rolls out of bed. Grabbing fresh boxers, Travis tosses the packet and cleans himself up before crawling back into bed. 

 

* * *

 

“G, what-” is all Travis gets out before Claude has him firmly pinned to the locker room wall. Claude casts a pointed glance down at Travis’ belly, and Travis feels his face burn when he sees that the slick that’s been dribbling from the pore all morning has left a wet, shiny patch on his shirt. 

 

“Can I?” Claude asks, hand hovering just over the hem of Travis’ shirt. 

 

“It’s weird,” Travis mumbles, but Claude just shakes his head. 

 

“It not. It’s an honor. And we’ll take care of you. Let me?” Travis searches Claude’s face, but his captain is genuine in his sentiment, so Travis nods his permission. Gently, Claude draws his shirt up, peeling the clinging fabric from his torso and dropping it to the floor beside them. His fingertips carefully skirt along the pore, light enough to make Travis shiver. “This looks sore. Does it hurt?” 

 

“It aches,” Travis answers truthfully. Claude hums softly, fingers edging closer and getting coated in the slick leaking from Travis’ body. Finally, one presses up against the opening and slips just inside. Travis gasps aloud, whole body twitching against Claude’s hold as a spark of pleasure-pain races through him. 

 

“Okay?” Travis just nods, not willing to trust his voice. Claude’s finger is so  _ thick _ , stretching him open further than any of the times he’d furtively pressed his own inside. “Shit, you’re tight.” 

 

“I - I tried.” It comes out a whine, a plea for approval and an apology all at once.

 

“Shh, I know you did. S’okay, I gotcha. Gonna get you nice and ready for us.” Claude is gentle and almost methodical as he fingers Travis open, edging a second finger in beside the first; he seems heedless of how shaky Travis’ legs are and how much slick is leaking out around his fingers. There’s a trickle of wet running down Travis’ belly and into his shorts, soaking into the waistband just above where his cock is tenting the fabric. 

 

“Please, Claude, I’m gonna-” he pants, clinging tight to Claude’s shoulders.

 

Claude raises his eyebrows, offering Travis a soft smile. “Yeah? Just from this?” It makes Travis blush, but Claude shakes his head and dips in close to steal a kiss that leaves Travis stunned for a moment. “That’s good, that’s so good. Go ahead and come.” Claude punctuates his words with a particularly firm set of rubs inside Travis, the drag of his calluses teasing up what would be a yell in the back of Travis’ throat. He tugs Claude in for a kiss, muffling the sound that tears free against his mouth as come pulses out into his boxers and slick gushes out around Claude’s fingers. Travis can feel the canal clenching, heightening the thickness of the fingers inside him. 

 

Claude eases him back and gently draws his fingers out, wiping them clean on his own shirt before using both hands to steady Travis as he helps him to the closest bench. Someone brings them a cloth that Claude uses to carefully clean Travis’ stomach, daubing along the pore to soak up as much slick as he can. “You’re gonna make the gods very happy.” 

 

For a few minutes, Travis drifts as he leans against the wall of the stall he’s in, anchored by the cool wood and the warmth of Claude’s hand still resting on his thigh. Voices swirl around him, the guys speaking low until Claude gives his leg a little squeeze. He opens his eyes, still feeling fuzzy from the orgasm and Claude smiles up at him. 

 

“Think you’re ready?” The question makes Travis heart race, but it also makes the pore  _ throb _ , sending a shiver of want zipping into his belly. “You don’t have to if you’re not.” 

 

“No, I-” Travis swallows and shoots a glance around the room. Half the team is watching - some curious, some turned on, and some outright concerned. That in itself settles his nerves. This is his  _ team _ . He’s safe here, especially with Claude watching over him. “I’m ready.” 

 

Claude huffs a little laugh, soft and pleased. He leans in slow, giving Travis time to pull away if he wants to. His beard is scratchy-soft against Travis’ skin, and his mouth is warm. Travis moans softly when Claude brushes the opening of the pore with his fingertips and can feel the curl of Claude’s smile against his lips. 

 

“It’ll be easier if you’re laying down.” 

 

Someone has grabbed a stack of towels and they spread them out for Travis to lay on, leaving some for him to use as a pillow. He feels exposed, laying on the floor with his team scattered around him, but he doesn’t stay that way for long. Shayne, to his surprise, is the first one to kneel up over him. He runs a gentle hand along Travis’ belly, just skirting his cock and the pore teasingly. 

 

“This okay?” 

 

Swallowing hard, Travis nods. “Yeah.” 

 

Despite how wet Travis is, someone tosses lube at Shayne, who obediently slicks up his cock. The tip alone feels like an impossible stretch as it eases inside him. Shayne’s got a hand on Travis’ chest, holding him down, while the other guides his cock in. Travis shudders as Shayne pushes in, the stretch of his cock so overwhelming that he can feel himself tearing up. 

 

Warm fingers land on his cheek, startling Travis and he realizes his eyes have slipped shut. Claude’s above him now, too, petting gently through his hair and thumbing at the tears that trickle down Travis’ temples. 

 

“You can ask to stop any time, Travis,” Claude reminds him. Travis can’t even find the words to speak. He nods, and then shakes his head again when Claude asks him if he wants to. He’s weirdly grateful when Claude takes one of his hands, letting Travis cling as Shayne starts to fuck him in earnest. 

 

All Travis can do is gasp. He can’t find any words between the dizzying thrusts, the pore clutching at Shayne’s cock and leaking so much slick it starts to dribble down his side from where it has pooled on his belly. Shayne’s careful but methodical and Travis almost hates him  and Claude for being so fucking good at this. 

 

“I can’t,” he blurts, feeling his orgasm dangerously close and afraid of the cresting sensation. “G, I can’t, Ican’tIcan-” Someone else grabs his other hand as he comes, holding him tight as he writhes and screams aloud. There’s a clench in his gut, a rolling ripple and he barely starts to process it before Shayne comes with a sharp curse. He can feel every throb of Shayne’s dick and all Travis can do is whimper. 

 

“Okay, hey, hey it’s okay,” Claude murmurs. Travis blindly tilts his head, closing his eyes against the renewed flow of tears. There’s no beard surrounding the lips that meet his, and Travis peeks enough to see that it’s Shayne kissing him and not Claude. Shayne’s kiss is a little sloppy, but sweet, and Travis tries to chase it as he pulls away. 

 

“You alright?” Shayne thumbs at his cheek, coaxing Travis to open his eyes. His breath catches on a small sob, but he nods anyway. 

 

Claude leans down to kiss him, smoothing his hair back. “That was a lot, huh. Do you think you can take more, or do you want to stop?” 

 

Travis whines at the idea of taking another cock, having another orgasm like that again. The pore throbs in want, but the rest of his body almost recoils. “I - I don’t think I can. Don’t think I can take another cock.” It feels like a weak excuse; he’s only taken one, and he’s heard stories about team orgies, of guys taking one of their teammates after another but he  _ can’t- _

 

“That’s okay,” Claude murmurs. “You don’t have to. Maybe let the boys finish on you, though, eh? They’ve been waiting. We can push it inside after, but you don’t have to come again.” 

 

Gathering himself enough to look around, Travis realizes most of the team is still in the room. Plenty of them are hard, stroking their own cocks slow. Only Shayne is fully dressed, now, but there are still looks of concern here and there. 

 

“O-okay,” he agrees, still shaky. Claude kisses him again in approval. Knees bump Travis side, and he breaks the kiss to look around Claude. Ivan and Radko are on either side of him, fisting their cocks over his belly. The sight makes the pore throb harder, and Travis has to bite his lip to keep from begging for one of them inside him.  _ Next time _ , he swears to himself or whoever, whatever is making the pore ache so much. 

 

Ivan comes first, grip on his cock tight and quick; he angles it to splash over the pore, adding to the slick mess there. Radko lasts through  coming, too, before shooting off with a low grunt. Teammate after teammate take their turns; Wayne croons at him about how good he’s being, Sean mumbles vaguely dirty nonsense, and all the while Claude’s hand in his is like an anchor against the want. 

 

Soon enough, Travis is a puddle of cum, and Claude is scooping it up with his fingers, pressing slow but deep inside the pore. Every pass makes him feel shakier, his cock already hard again, laying along the cut of his hip. Travis almost asks, almost gives in to the greedy desperation of the pulsing, but then Claude is wiping his hands on a spare towel. He mops Travis up, bestowing him with a few more approving kisses before helping him sit up. 

 

Some of the guys have stuck around, Ivan amongst them; it’s Ivan who helps him to the shower, Claude soaping him down while Ivan holds him up. The others clean up the floor and Travis’ stall, packing away his things and laying out a fresh change of clothes for him to wear home. 

 

The cramping starts the next day. Travis goes to Jim, blushing hotly as he admits the team had taken him to breed the night before. 

 

“It’s a good sign,” Jim assures him. “You caught right away. Three days, maybe four, and the eggs should be ready to offer.” 

 

He leaves with another pamphlet, one on delivering the offerings safely. Travis takes one look at the diagrams and pitches it into his backseat. The next few days are hellish, his stomach swelling and cramping in turns until he’s got what looks undeniably like a baby bump resting between his hips. His team smiles at him, and Claude gently pins him against the wall again a couple of days later, running a warm palm down the curve of Travis’ belly. 

 

“These should almost be ready, eh? Do you have a plan?” 

 

Travis almost lies, but at the last minute he shakes his head. He wants . . . he wants Claude to take care of him again, like he did for the breeding. Sure enough, Claude insists he come to Travis’ to help him set up. He brings over a clean plastic tote, a pair of heating pads, and a couple of gallons of distilled water. 

 

“Put one on top, one underneath,” Claude explains, showing Travis the right dial to set the heating pads to. “You need enough water to keep them covered so they don’t dry out. This’ll help keep them overnight.” 

 

Really, Travis is grateful his first offering comes when they’re at home. The cramps hit after the game, in the wee hours of the morning as he’s still riding the adrenaline of the win home. These are sharper, and there’s a sudden gush of slick down his front. 

 

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, pushing his car a little faster. He stumbles up to his apartment, thinking enough to grab a couple of towels to spread under him as he strips out of his clothes, leaving only his boxers in place. 

 

The stretch of the first egg is awful; it feels good and wrong and weird, edging up the canal slowly until it breaches, then sliding out all at once. Each one after is much the same, until they’re coming out in a steady flow that leaves Travis weak. He manages to gather his wits enough to grab the tote on the floor and drag it closer, careful not to smush any of the already-birthed eggs. He shakily drops them in, having to pause here and there to push out another. The water, however, is just out of reach, and Travis despairs ever reaching it until there’s a knock on his door. 

 

Claude peeks in at his questioning sound, the concern on his face intensifying as he sees the mess of eggs and slick Travis is mired in. “Aw kid. I thought it’d be tonight. Can I?” 

 

“Please,” Travis pants. He watches as Claude moves more eggs to the tote and covers them with water, flicking on the heating pads. When Claude reaches out to touch him, Travis arches into the contact like a cat. 

 

“Poor kid. It’s okay.” Claude runs fingers through his hair, soothing just like before. Travis births an impossible amount of eggs, more than he thinks could have physically fit, but Claude just shrugs when he brings it up. “It’s magic. Who knows.” 

 

The tote is full to overflowing, practically, but Travis is done. Empty. Hollow. He hates it. 

 

“Claude, please,” he says again. Claude looks up at him from where he’s pressing the lid into place, and Travis arches, showing off the stretched-pink pore on his belly. “Please?” 

 

“The team-” Claude starts, but Travis shakes his head. 

 

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow, the team can -  _ Claude _ .” 

 

“Alright. Okay.” Shucking his clothes, Claude helps him out of his boxers. They curl up face to face, and Claude hitches Travis just a bit closer. His cock slides in like nothing, but the canal clamps around it, making Travis shiver and Claude curse. 

 

“Fuck, you’re made for this,” Claude breathes into Travis hair when Travis comes, muffling his yell against the damp skin of Claude’s chest. He’s dizzy with exhaustion and orgasm, worn out from the delivery, but even as Claude withdraws, Travis thinks about the team and tomorrow and feels his belly cramp. 


End file.
